


Make it Out Alive

by Thelonelycoast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M, Underage - Freeform, Zombie AU, Zombies, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelonelycoast/pseuds/Thelonelycoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s meant to be a quick run - go into town and root through some cupboards and cabinets he hasn't gotten to explore yet - collect whatever food hasn’t already spoiled or expired. He finds some old tin cans that look promising and stuffs them into his rucksack, wrapping them in strips of flannel first so they don’t clink together. Quiet is the key.  Louis moves through this world like a ghost, taking what he needs and leaving nothing behind.</p><p> Zombie au based loosely on the Walking Dead world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Make it Out Alive**

They usually travel in twos, but today Louis is alone. He actually prefers it that way - one person means quick in and quick out - slinking quietly through abandoned rooms with a bandana tied over his mouth to mask the odor of rotting flesh. It never quite goes away, but you stop noticing it as much over time. Louis still remembers the clean scent of freshly laundered sheets and shampooed hair, the yeasty, cinnamon smell of his mother’s baking fogging up the kitchen windows. But he doesn’t like to think of that. Not _anymore_.

It’s meant to be a quick run - go into town and root through some cupboards and cabinets he hasn't gotten to explore yet - collect whatever food hasn’t already spoiled or expired. He finds some old tin cans that look promising and stuffs them into his rucksack, wrapping them in strips of flannel first so they don’t clink together. Quiet is the key.  Louis moves through this world like a ghost, taking what he needs and leaving nothing behind. 

For a moment, he stands in the center of the kitchen with his eyes closed, feeling the sun on his face and listening to the soft, even cadence of his own breath. Sometimes, when it’s quiet like this, when he can hear birdsong in the over-grown garden and the wind rippling through the leaves of the trees, it’s like he’s back there again in his mother’s kitchen and nothing’s changed. But then he opens his eyes again and there’s one of them, lurching through the garden, hungry and sightless.

Louis ducks out of the kitchen and silently makes his way up the stairs. He promised Zayn he’d get him a canister of hairspray if he could find one, but most of the medicine cabinets he’s found thus far have already been stripped bare save for a spare hair-pin or band-aid.  Medicine, like food, is hard to come by these days.  He’s in the hall when he hears a repetitive thumping noise against the airing cupboard door.  He freezes, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.  Normally, he’d leave it be, but it annoys him to think of it, trapped in there like a landmine, waiting for the next person who’s unlucky enough to come through here. Louis hefts his crossbow up onto his shoulder and kicks the door open with his foot.

A scream shatters the silence and in his surprise, Louis nearly unleashes an arrow into the kid’s face by accident. At first, Louis isn’t even sure if the kid is a boy or a girl, because he or she is so prettily androgenous, mouth supple and red, heavily lashed eyes frozen open like a startled fawn’s. But then Louis sees the flat chest heaving under the loose band t-shirt, the sharp elbows, the scuffed up converse peaking out from under the plaid blanket he’s tucked under and it’s _definitely_ a boy - an extremely _pretty_ boy. Lush, dark curls frame his heart-shaped face and his cheeks are flushed, large doe eyes blinking stupidly at Louis.

“Shit. I nearly shot you, mate,” Louis huffs, wiping his sweaty palms against the legs of his trousers. His heart races as he lowers his weapon and takes a step back. The boy unfolds himself slowly from the cramped space among the shelves of towels and it’s not until he fully rights himself that Louis realizes he’s got something bundled in his arms.  Also, that he's taller than Louis, but who's keeping track?

“What’ve you got there?” he asks warily, taking another step back. You think you can trust the live ones, but there are some that go a bit mad.  It's always better to be safe than sorry.  The boy slowly tilts the bundle toward Louis so he can see the tiny head with a scant smattering of dark hair, one small red, curled fist escaping the blanket. Suddenly, and without warning, he recalls the day the twins were born - how small they’d been, how vulnerable. It’s been a long time since he’s thought of them, since he’s _let_ himself think of them and the memory punches through his chest like a brick. It’s been ages since he’s seen a baby and it makes him feel panicked and sick.  It doesn't _belong_ here.  There's no room for weakness or vulnerability in this world.  There's no room for innocence - and yet -

The boy’s voice is surprisingly husky and low when he speaks, at odds with his soft, young face. “I was supposed to wait here for my sister to get back, but I heard crying. He was all alone.” The boy hugs the baby tighter to his thin frame as if Louis is threatening to take it away from him. His clothes are too big, the trousers sliding down on his narrow hips, the stretched-out neck of his t-shirt revealing the prominent swoop of his too-sharp collarbone. Louis wonders when the boy last ate.

He swallows hard, moving to the closest window. Walkers are amassing in the garden below, trampling vines and wild-flowers, drawn by the sound of Harry’s scream. Louis pulls the curtain back into place. Zayn’s hairspray will have to wait. “We’ve got to go. They’ll be on us soon.”

“I can’t - my sister -”

“We’ll come back for her in the morning,” Louis insists gruffly. “Better she come back and you’re alive than...than _one of them_.” He shudders.

“Let me just get a bag together for the baby. He’ll need formula and diapers.”

“There’s no time. Leave him. This world is no place for babies. Not anymore.”  It might sound cruel of him - but Louis has to think of the group now - could they risk having the baby cry at an inopportune moment, drawing unwanted attention to them?  Could they risk all of their lives for one baby?  It was simple math.  A baby would only slow them down.

“I can’t. _Please_. It’ll just take a second,” the boy insists, ducking into the nursery before Louis can stop him. Louis can already hear the sound of fists beating against the vinyl siding, irregular footfalls on the cement walkway. They haven’t got long before they’re surrounded.

He hears the boy release a startled yelp and comes just in time to shoot a walker between the eyes. It collapses in a crumpled heap near the closet.  The boy is shaking as he gathers diapers and bottles into a bag. Louis wonders if he’s ever killed one before.  
  
“Come on,” Louis says impatiently, grabbing the boy's elbow to steer him out. “We’ve got to go. _Now_.”

“I just need to leave my sister a note,” the boy says and Louis rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t make a sound. This odd, pretty kid is going to the be the death of him. _Literally_.

Fortunately it doesn’t take long. The boy quickly scrawls a quick note on a Post-it and sticks it on the closet door.

__

Louis smirks. “ _Fit bloke_ , huh?”

  
“I see you chose to focus on that and not the scary bit,” the boy says, but he’s hiding a smile into the baby's shoulder.  And oh God, is that a _dimple_?

Louis is doomed.

***

They make it to the car just in time, flying out of the garage like a bullet, knocking down bodies as they go. On the highway, Louis drives slowly through the maze of broken-down cars, like he's navigating a large ship through a field of icebergs. “What’s your name?” he asks the boy.

“‘m Harry,” the boy mumbles, brushing his nose over the crown of the baby’s head.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

Harry shrugs sheepishly. “He _smells_ good. Like milk and biscuits. I’d forgotten how good babies can smell.”

Louis laughs, the sound unexpectedly harsh in the confined space of the car. “You’re a weird kid, Harry.”

“‘m not a kid,” Harry protests, letting the baby curl it’s fist around one of his index fingers. His fingers are obscenely long, but Louis is _definitely_ not thinking about that, because despite what the boy says, he _is_ a kid. Louis is only seventeen himself, but he's a far cry from Harry.  Harry is just some scared kid, all elbows and knees, shivering in too-big clothes and Louis is a leader of a whole group, responsible for their lives in addition to his own. “‘m fourteen.”

“Like I said, _a kid_.” Louis tries not to think of the fact that Harry’s already at an age his sisters will never see. They’re forever children, like butterflies preserved in the sparkling amber of his memory, doomed to never grow up. Sometimes, he wonders if it’s _better_ that way. 

That’s the part that puzzles him the most - this unending desire to live, to keep fighting, even when there’s nothing left to fight _for_. They’re scurrying around the ruined husk of the world like rats looking for a crumb of food, a dry place to sleep. He supposes the will to live is what separates them from the others, is what makes them human and the others... _not_. But sometimes it feels less like living and more like _surviving_. Sometimes, he wonders what the point is. Sometimes, he’s glad his sisters never lived to see this world.

The boy sighs and rests his head against the window, exhaling a bloom of condensation onto the glass. He draws a tiny heart into the fog with his pinkie and smudges it out with the edge of his sleeve.  There’s something strangely innocent about him. This life turns people hard or dead, but Harry’s _soft_ and Louis feels the overwhelming urge to protect him. He's like a lamb miraculously living amongst wolves, oblivious to the danger.

They’re losing daylight, the sun the colors of melted sorbet in the rearview mirror. The baby’s hungry, but there’s no water to fix a bottle, so Harry lets it suck on one of his fingers, cooing to it softly in the passenger seat.  Louis’ skin feels itchy and too-tight.

“Where’s your weapon?” Louis asks, when the silence stretches too thin between them, punctuated only by the baby’s fussy cries and Harry’s soft, responding murmurs.

Harry shrugs one-shouldered. “Don’t have one.”

“How have you survived this long?” Louis marvels.

“We were holed up in our attic eating tinned tuna for ages. Then we started to run out of stuff and we had to leave.”

“And your sister?”

“She has a knife.”

“You’re lucky. That you have your sister. If you decide to stay with us, you’ll learn to use a weapon,” Louis says, a touch too gruffly. He sounds like his dad, he realizes with a shock.  And then the realization follows that there's no one left alive who knew his dad but him, no one else to keep his memory alive.

Harry scrunches his nose up, but doesn’t comment. “You never told me your name.”

“Louis.”

***

They’re staying at the ECDC (the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control) and even Louis has to admit, it’s a pretty posh set-up compared to some of the other places he’s stayed since the world ended. They’d all flocked there from different parts of the country, but had been disappointed to find only more of the same - walkers crowding the lawns outside, overturned cars in the lanes and roadblocks and barricades that had failed to keep the slow march of death out. There was only scientist left at the ECDC and there was something slightly off about him, but he had offered them shelter, so Louis had deferred judgement for the time being. He had to keep his group safe and there was no safer place to be right now.

Harry cries a little when Louis tells him they have hot water so he can shower. It's funny how the things you took for granted in your old life were considered such luxuries now. A warm shower, a hot meal, somewhere dry and clean to lay your head at night; and perhaps most of all, someplace you felt _safe_. There was no place Louis called home anymore, but this place was the closest he’d come in the past year.

Louis hands Harry a towel and some toiletries of Zayn’s that he’s sure to grumble about later. “Just keep it under twenty minutes, kid. I know what you teenagers get up to in there,” Louis teases him. He’s rewarded with a bright, embarrassed flush blooming over Harry’s neck and the backs of his ears that turns Louis on more than he cares to admit. Harry emerges from the shower fifteen minutes later with his wet curls smelling faintly of apples and Louis gives him fresh clothes that hang off his gaunt frame. Meal time already passed and they’re strict about that sort of thing now because they have to regulate their food supply, but Louis finds a bag of crisps someone snuck out of the mess hall and Harry eats them ravenously, cross-legged on his bed, crumbs falling down the open neck of his jumper.  He licks each of his fingers when he's done and Louis stares at a crack in the wall, willing himself not to get hard.

Louis has Harry bunk with Niall, because at fourteen and fifteen they’re the closest in age. By the time he leaves Harry, he’s settling in nicely, talking excitedly with the Irish boy about some television programme that’s no longer on air that Niall missed the last season of.

The baby's safely escorted into the arms of Eleanor, who along with Perrie and Mary, watch the children of their group.  The youngest child is seven and they all marvel over the new baby as if they'd never seen one before.

Louis takes his own shower and changes into sweats, grateful the day is over. On his way downstairs, he grabs two beers from the mess hall fridge - there are benefits to being the leader, but he tries not to abuse them too much - except when it comes to the occasional night-cap. He and Roger (the scientist who had given them shelter) have fallen into a nightly routine of sharing a brew together after the others have retreated to their rooms for the night. They both avoid any mention of their pasts, but Roger teaches Louis a lot about his research at the ECDC and his findings (which are worryingly few).

Tonight, Roger isn’t in the command room as usual, but Louis finds him in the lab, head bent over his microscope. Louis sets the beers aside and suits up in one of the white biosafety suits that hang on the wall. He goes through two doors before entering the sealed, pressurized inner chamber, which releases a hiss of air as it admits him.

Roger looks up and gives Louis an acknowledging nod, waving him closer. He steps back to allow Louis a look into the microscope. Louis knows enough now to recognize the red platelets which made up the blood stream and the tiny blue swirls which are indicative of the virus. “What am I looking at?” he asks.

“This is a sample of your blood.”

Louis’ eyes grow wide and he pulls his head back to stare at Roger in disbelief. “But it’s-”

“ _Infected_ , yes. We _all_ are. You, me, Zayn, Liam, Niall...everyone.” Roger had taken blood samples from them when they all arrived as a condition of their stay, but he hadn’t mentioned it again and Louis had assumed it meant they were all negative.

“We all carry the virus. When we die - be it by bite or natural causes or a bullet - we’ll all turn.”

Louis sinks down to one of the stools, feeling light-headed as he grips the counter for support. “How long have you known?” he asks in a low whisper that’s amplified by his helmet.

“Since before you arrived. I didn’t want to alarm you unnecessarily. It all makes you feel a bit hopeless, doesn’t it?”

“So why are you telling me now?”

Roger pulls the slide out from under the microscope and puts a new one in its place. Louis puts his eye to the ocular lens, using the fine adjustment knob to get a clearer look. Like his own slide, the sample is pink with tiny smaller blobs of pink outlined in red, but this one has none of the swirly blue that’s in his own slide.

“Whose is this?” Louis asks.

“Your boy. The one you brought in tonight. He’s negative for the virus.”

“But how can that be?” Louis asks in faint alarm. What had Harry done that the rest of them hadn’t? Was it because he hadn’t come in contact with any of the walkers directly? Or because he was somehow immune?

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I haven’t seen a healthy blood sample since the beginning of the outbreak. And I’ve looked at thousands.”

They stare at each other a moment as the realization sinks in, until a loud banging diverts their attention. Niall’s in the lab, banging on the outer door. “Lou!  Come quick! It’s Harry!”

***

Louis waits impatiently to get through the chemical shower. “Come on, come on,” he chants under his breath, jiggling one leg. He practically rips his suit in his haste to get out of it, leaving it discarded on the lab floor. He races down the hall after Niall to Harry’s room, skidding to a stop just inside. Harry’s lying on the bed with his eyes closed and he looks much worse than the last time Louis saw him. His skin is unnaturally pale and his clothes and hair are soaked in sweat. “What happened?”

“I dunno,” Niall says anxiously, hovering at the foot Harry’s bed. “We were just talking and he said he didn’t feel well and went to lie down and when I looked over, he was like this.”

Liam ducks his head in. “What’s the commotion?”

“Harry’s doing poorly.”

“Did he get bit?” Liam asks sternly, hands on his hips. He’s the most reserved of the group about letting new people in and Louis isn’t really in the mood for it now.

“No. It’s not that.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yes, I’m bloody sure, Liam. It’s got to be something else.” _Because he’s negative_ , Louis thinks grimly. _It can’t be a bite because he hasn’t got the virus; not like us._

“What’s this?” Niall asks, lifting Harry’s limp arm off the bed. There’s a silver bracelet on his wrist that glints as it catches the light. The bracelet’s a bit loose so Louis probably didn’t see it before because it was covered by his jumper sleeve.

“It’s a medical alert bracelet.” Louis rushes to Harry’s bedside, flipping the metal disk of the bracelet over. “He’s diabetic. His body’s probably going into shock.” Louis’ mum was a nurse, so he’s generally considered the resident expert on these things, even though most of the time he feels entirely out of his league.

“My grandmother was diabetic. He needs insulin,” Liam remarks somberly.

“Well, we don’t have bloody insulin, do we?” Louis snaps. “We’ll need to improvise.” Louis unhooks the mess room key from his belt and tosses it to Niall. “Niall, go to the kitchen and get me a bottle of water and whatever sweets you can find. Liam, I’ll need towels and a basin of water.”

They stand there frozen for a second before Louis barks, “NOW!” and they both split off in different directions. Louis moves behind Harry on the bed, holding the boy’s body upright against his chest. He's burning up, even through his jumper. Louis rakes his fingers through the boy’s sweaty curls. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Just stay with me.”

It seems like the others are gone for ages. Harry’s lips are tinged faintly blue and his breath is shallow in his chest, both signs that he’s entering diabetic shock. Louis just hopes he’s not too late. He was too late for his sisters; he can’t, he _won’t_ let the same happen to Harry.  Not on his watch.  Not today.

Niall returns first - carrying two water bottles and a bag of soft caramels - one of which he has in his mouth. “About bloody time,” Louis says, though he’s pretty sure from the way Niall’s panting that he ran there and back.

Louis unwraps a foil sweet and forces Harry’s mouth open with his finger. “Open up for me, love,” he commands, pressing the caramel into Harry’s tongue. Harry weakly sucks at the candy, eyelashes fluttering but eyes staying closed. “Thatta boy. Keep it in your mouth now. Don’t swallow.”

“Niall, help me get his jumper off. It’s soaked straight through.” Niall jumps to his feet and helps Louis strip Harry’s jumper off just as Liam returns with the towels. Louis wets a flannel and mops the sweat from Harry’s face and chest, working quickly to lower his fever. Niall’s head is quirked to one side as he stares at them, prompting Louis to snap, “What?!”

“Sorry. It’s just...he’s got four nipples,” Niall points out.  Louis throws a wet flannel at Niall, which the boy expertly dodges. “ _What_? It’s a bit weird, innit?” he asks, wounded, turning to Liam for confirmation. Liam shrugs, unwilling to get involved.

“Li, will you let Niall sleep in yours tonight? I want to stay up with Harry.”

Liam nods. “Of course. Do you need anything else?”

Louis sighs, Harry’s pulse beating rapidly against him like a tiny bird. “A miracle.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s meant to be a quick run - go into town and root through some cupboards and cabinets he hasn't gotten to explore yet - collect whatever food hasn’t already spoiled or expired. He finds some old tin cans that look promising and stuffs them into his rucksack, wrapping them in strips of flannel first so they don’t clink together. Quiet is the key. Louis moves through this world like a ghost, taking what he needs and leaving nothing behind.
> 
> Zombie au based loosely on the Walking Dead world.

**Make it Out Alive**

Louis gets his miracle. He must fall asleep some time in the night, but he wakes up because he’s hot - _broiling_ in fact. At first, he thinks it must be the sun slanting through the shades, or else too many duvets piled atop him, but then he remembers he lives in a tiny cement cell with no windows and sleeps under a thin, scratchy blanket that barely holds in the heat. Sometimes, it takes him a moment to get oriented. To remember where he is and what his life is now. In his dreams, it’s like they’re alive again. It’s like the world never went to shit. It’s like he’s not alone.

He's not _alone_.

Louis wakes with a jolt, getting a mouthful of curls for his efforts. It’s been a long time since he’s shared a bed with anyone, probably since the girls used to crawl in with him when his parents were fighting, and that seems like another lifetime now, like it happened to someone else. For a few minutes, he lies there with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of Harry’s warm, sleep-heavy body draped over his chest, savoring the closeness. The sheets smell of caramel and Harry's apple shampoo and boy sweat.  There's so few quiet moments of intimacy like this anymore - just two people sharing something without wanting or needing anything from one another.  Louis wants to lie there all day. 

But eventually, he rolls the boy off him, stretching his arms over his head and popping the kinks out of his back.  He doesn’t sleep in late much these days. There’s always something that needs to be done - fuel to be acquired for their vehicles, food to be foraged, weapons and ammunition to add to their stores. It’s easier if he thinks of it like a videogame - of each task like a mission he needs to complete to advance to the next level - because if he thinks of the big picture too much, he gets overwhelmed. He sees the futility of it all - fighting to prolong their lives for what - another _day_ , another _week_? _Making friendships with people he’s not quite sure will be there tomorrow_? It’s better to keep his head down, to plow through, to take it day by day, hour by hour. Last night, he wasn’t sure Harry would be with him this morning and here he is, with a bit of color back in his cheeks, and Louis counts that as a victory. He has so few of those these days.

Ed is on cooking detail today, face red from the heat of the kitchen, whistling to himself as he flips eggs and bacon on the griddle. Louis eats breakfast in the mess hall with everyone else, giving them updates on Harry, and gets Ed to make him up a plate to go. Normally, they’re not allowed to take food out of the kitchen - it can lead to hoarding which is a common occurrence with so few resources to go around - but for the ill and infirm, they make special allowances.

Harry’s awake when Louis comes in, propped up against the pillows, looking bleary and weak, with large, dark circles under his eyes. He gives Louis a winning smile when he sees him coming in with a breakfast tray. “How are you feeling?”

Harry hugs his elbows over his thin waist, shivering a little. “Tired.  A bit cold.  Where are my clothes?”

“Being laundered. You sweat through them last night.” Louis sets the tray down and tugs off his hoodie, tossing it to Harry. “Here, put this on.”

Harry pulls it over his head, hair sticking up at odd angles, the hoodie endearingly large on him. He pushes the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his thin wrists, the silver-linked bracelet sliding down to the widest part of his hand. There’s a small patch of darker skin on one wrist, too irregularly shaped to be a bruise, so it must be a birthmark. Louis wants to mouth over it, to taste the salt of Harry’s skin, but he shakes the thought from his head. _A kid_ , he reminds himself. _Just a fucking kid_.

“Budge over,” Louis commands, pushing Harry over on the bed with his hip before Harry even has a chance to move. Louis balances the tray on his knees and holds the straw for the orange juice up to Harry’s lips. “Take a sip of this.” Harry takes a tiny sip before releasing the straw and Louis nudges him. “Come on, you can do better than that.” Harry rolls his eyes, but takes a larger swallow and Louis ruffles his hair. “That’s a good boy. You’ve got to eat. Get your strength up.”

“My sister-” Harry starts and Louis shakes his head.

“You’re not going out in this state. You’ll only slow us down. Zayn and I will go.” Louis holds a piece of bacon up to Harry’s mouth. “Come on. Be a good lad and eat something for me.” Louis realizes Harry’s perfectly capable of feeding himself, that he’s probably only doing it to feel the slick slide of Harry’s lips and tongue over his fingers, but Harry doesn’t need to know that.

“Has anyone ever you told you you’re really bossy?” Harry mumbles around a mouthful of bacon.

“Don’t chew with your mouth open,” Louis scolds, rewarded with another roll of Harry’s eyes. _Teenagers_. _Incorrigible_.

“Last night. You took care of me, didn’t you?”  Harry asks softly.

Louis' body tenses, fork full of scrambled eggs wavering halfway to Harry’s mouth. “I didn’t think you’d remember. You were pretty out of it.”

“You called me sweetheart,” Harry grins, leaning forward to close his mouth around the fork.

“I think you may have been delirious,” Louis says gruffly, setting the tray on Harry’s lap. He stands, brushing the bacon grease off his fingers and onto his trousers. “I’ve got things to do. You think you can manage to feed yourself?”

“Tastes better when you do it,” Harry winks and Louis' face may go a bit hot at that.

“You’re a menace,” he grumbles under his breath, but when he turns away, he’s smiling like an idiot. He blames it on lack of sleep.

***

Before all this happened, Louis didn’t often think of death. He no reason to. No one close to him had ever died, except a distant aunt who was in her nineties and had been suffering from dementia for years. They received some of her things in the post - an antique cookie jar and some gold jewelry that his mum eventually sold so Lottie could get braces. His mum said, “it was her time.” But it _hadn’t_ been his mum’s time or his sister's. They were ripped from the world too soon. Sometimes, it's hard not to be angry all the time.

Most teenagers have no sense of their own mortality. Before this, some part of Louis believed he would never grow old, never die. But now he was surrounded by death at every turn. It had settled into his lungs like asbestos, making it difficult to breathe, to go on. There was nowhere to hide from it. Even at the ECDC, he was only too aware they were only putting off the inevitable.

Louis and Zayn set off after breakfast, Zayn on his motorcycle and Louis following in his Rover. It’s a beautiful day by all accounts, the sun high and bright in the sky like a polished coin, only a thin scudding of clouds marring the perfect blue. It was perfect if you could ignore the heaped up cars rusting on the sides of the road and the Walkers lurching after them with their insatiable appetite and gnashing teeth, rotted flesh falling off of them in long strips.

Twenty miles out, Zayn signals for Louis to pull off and they leave the highway behind them. Off the exit, there’s a way-station that still has gas and they both fill their tanks, plus two extra canisters they put in the boot of Louis’ SUV. There’s an attached convenience store and Zayn disappears into it and emerges a few minutes later with an armload of comic books and a plastic shopping bag full of candy and cigarettes, a rope of red licorice dangling from his mouth. He’s wearing a pair of aviators with the tag still on them, grinning like he’s the happiest bloke on earth. Maybe he is. He certainly is taking this whole end-of-the-world thing well. Zayn grins at Louis and gives him a thumbs up, mouthing, “score!” as he revs up his bike. 

Some of the group take these runs less seriously than others, Zayn chief among them. But his chill demeanor keeps Louis calm and clear-headed and when it came to blows, Zayn always has his back. They have a sort of connection when they’re fighting off Walkers - like they’re always aware of where the other is - and Louis can’t count the number of times he was saved by Zayn’s Katana blade. Out here, Louis is always on alert, aware that things could go pear-shaped at any second. He has no time for distractions, not when he’s keeping himself and his team alive. Which isn’t to say he won’t read those comics later or that he'll turn down a bite of licorice. He’s only human after all. Actually, one of the few left.

***

It’s weird coming back to the house Louis found Harry in. With the exception of larger convenience stores and groceries, where multiple trips could be made, Louis hardly ever ransacks the same place twice. One, because a short trip usually covers it, but also because if you stay in one place for too long, you start to feel safe. The trick is to keep moving. Otherwise, you’re just a sitting duck.

They’re early for the meetup time with Harry’s sister, so Louis goes into the nursery to see if he can scavenge anything else up for the baby and Zayn cheerily yells, “gonna go check the loo”, before bounding up the stairs, no doubt in search of hair product.

“Keep your walkie on,” Louis hiss-whispers.

“Yes, dad,” Zayn sing-songs before disappearing around a bend in the stairs. Louis started the walky-talky thing early on in the interest of having a quiet means of communication. Walkers were drawn by sound, any commotion and they were all over you like flies swarming a piece of rotted fruit. Which was why, when they could, they engaged in hand to hand combat instead of using guns. And which was why, Louis preferred a whisper to a shout. They’d all teased him about it - about the walkies being a throw-back to his time in the Scouts - but they seemed to secretly enjoy it, like they were all on a top-secret spy mission and not a last-ditch effort to keep themselves alive.

The nursery is a mess. The nappie bin is on it’s side, foul nappies scattered across the carpet and the Walker Louis had taken out the last time is still slumped over by the closet, lumpy gray brain-matter leaking from the crack in its skull. Louis gags, pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose.  He wishes it was like it was in video games - when you killed a bad guy he would just disappear from the game or disentegrate into ash.  The carnage here never goes away.

Louis manages to dig up some onesies and a canister of formula Harry missed the first time around and a container of colorful, plastic dummies. He doesn’t feel any particular affinity for the baby - don’t get him wrong, he loved children once, but now they remind him too much of the past, of his baby sisters, of hope for a new generation that might never come to be - but he thinks it might please Harry. (He _knows_. He’s whipped already.)

Zayn's voice crackles through on the walkie and Louis nearly decks himself on the mobile hanging over the baby’s crib. “Took out a walker in the shower. Damn near shit my pants when it leapt out at me, but suppose I’m in the right place for it.”

“You okay?” Louis responds.  
  
“Yeah. Oh! There is a God!” Zayn exclaims suddenly.

“Hair product?” Louis snorts.

“Oodles of it! Come to papa, you beautiful hair wax, you. Sort of makes you believe in destiny, doesn’t it?” Zayn says gleefully, cans clinking as he put them in his bag.

Louis’ responding laughter is cut off by the cold, sharp press of a blade against his throat. He freezes, taking shallow breaths through his nose so as not to allow the blade to sink in further. He’s quite fond of his adam’s apple.

“Put your fucking hands up,” a girl’s voice says. “Scream or try anything and I’ll slit you like a pig.” Louis jams the speak button on his walkie with his thumb so Zayn can overhear what’s happening and slowly raises his hands.

“Please. I’m too pretty to die,” Louis jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Shut the fuck up. What are you doing here?”

“I’m very clearly stocking up on diapers. Five finger discount, you know.” Louis waggles the fingers on one of his raised hands.

“Where’s Harry? What did you _do_ to him?” she growls, clearly unamused.

“Didn’t you get his note?”

“ _What_ note?”

“He left a post-it on the door for you. You’re Gemma, I presume?” The girl inhales sharply and reluctantly pulls the knife away from his throat. Louis turns around to face her. She looks a lot like Harry, but while his features lend to dopey, doe-eyed innocence, her’s are hard and wild. Her dark hair is a tangled, unwashed nest, her lips set in a thin, accusing line. The beautiful green eyes Louis loves on Harry are full of fury in her face. Louis takes a step back, bumping into the changing table with his back.

“Where is he? Is he okay? If you hurt him, I swear to God-”

“All right?” It’s Zayn, leaning against the staircase banister like he’s posing for the cover of a romance novel. His denim shirt is unbuttoned to show the wing tattoos along his collarbones and with a palm of wax in his quiff he looks entirely fuckable. Louis hates him.

“Zayn, Gemma. Gemma, Zayn,” Louis yawns. Gemma blushes and moves to pat her hair back into an organized formation. She fails.

“We ready to go then?” Zayn asks.

“How do I know you’ve got Harry?” she demands, long blade still clenched in her balled-up fist like she’s out for blood.

“You don’t,” Louis shrugs. “But he’s in dire need of insulin and I’m willing to bet that’s what you’re carrying in that bag there,” he nods to the army-green messenger bag she has strapped over her loose vest. “So you’ll just have to take it on faith.”

“Fine. But if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to hurt you,” she says, sheathing her blade in its holster.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Honestly honey, you’re not my type.”

Zayn smiles at her wolfishly, eyes raking over her body. Not really helping their case, then. “You can ride with me,” he says, smoothly sliding an arm around her waist. Gemma shakes him off, stomping down the stairs ahead of them. Louis has the decency not to tell her to keep the volume down.

***

Gemma cranes her head back, marveling at the giant building before her as they pull up to it. “What _is_ this place?”

“The European Center for Disease Prevention and Control,” Louis says as he pulls into the protected garage.

“So what, you guys are _scientists_?” she scoffs incredulously. “The situation really must be dire if they hired you two,” she snorts, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Not exactly. There’s only one scientist left. Roger. You’ll meet him at dinner. Unfortunately, you missed lunch.”

Zayn’s already parked his bike and he takes extra long shaking his hair out after he takes off his helmet. Gemma scowls as she shoulders past him. “Where’s Harry?”

“Presumably in his room,” Louis says.

“We’re not staying here,” Gemma says shortly.

“I didn’t say you were. But you should probably take a shower before you go. You don’t smell too great,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Gemma’s mouth drops open. “I was attacked by Walkers at the pharmacy. I only narrowly escaped with my life. Sorry if my odor offends you, your highness.”

“We’re going to get along just fine,” Louis laughs as he shoulders open Harry’s door.

Harry and Niall are sitting cross-legged on the floor, putting together a jigsaw puzzle. When Harry sees Gemma, he leaps to his feet, running over to encompass her in a hug. Louis tries not to be too jealous - of either the fact that they both have family or that she gets to touch Harry without an excuse.

“Oh thank God,” Gemma exhales, smoothing back Harry’s curls as she plants kisses all over his face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Gem,” Harry laughs her off, squirming like a puppy in her tight grasp. “Really. Louis took care of me.”

“I suppose I should thank you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t put yourself out on my account. Anyway, I’ve got stuff to do. I’ll leave you two to it. Harry, show Gemma the showers if she wants one. Dinner’s at six sharp.”

***

Louis hasn’t really got anything to do that afternoon. Once he logs his trip with Zayn and they do an inventory of what they collected, he goes to the library to continue the book he’s reading. Liam is there already, thumbing through the shelves. His head lifts up at Louis' approach.  “Did everything go okay out there?”

“Yeah. Got everything we needed and there’s a happy family reunion on now.”

Liam frowns, perhaps remembering his own family. “I think something’s been going on with Roger. He’s been in the lab all day, refusing meals....Do you think he’s on to something?”

Louis shrugs. He’s not sure just how much to share with the others yet. They have a right to know, but he doesn’t want them to get dispirited, nor does he want to encourage hope where there might not be any. “What, like a _cure_? I highly doubt one kooky scientist can do the work that hundreds of others before him failed to do.”

Liam nods, but something in his eyes says he knows Louis is withholding. “But something _has_ changed, hasn’t it? Since Harry arrived?”  
  
“What do you mean?”

Liam looks anguished as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. Louis knows he had two older sisters in his other life; that he was bullied mercilessly in school and they looked out for him. Who’s looking out for him now? _Louis_? “I dunno. It just _feels_ different. Doesn’t it to you?”

“Probably for different reasons than you,” Louis laughs.

“ _You_... _Harry_? But he’s so -”

“ _Young_? Yeah, I know.  But it’s not like I can just walk into a gay club any longer, now is it?” Louis and Zayn had shared a few gropes in the darkness when Zayn first joined their ragged band, but mostly because he had already dated his way through all the girls and he and Louis were vain enough to recognize they were both attractive. It didn’t work for obvious reasons, but there were no hard feelings.  Well, not _many_.

“Just - be careful, yeah?”

“I’m always careful,” Louis says grimly. “Guess I better check in on Roger, then,” he sighs, setting his book down.

“Love you,” Liam says, as Louis is nearly out the door.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“One day you’ll say it back,” Liam calls after him, but Louis just shakes his head. Everyone he’s ever said “I love you” to in his life has died; why push his luck?

***

Louis is halfway to the lab when he hears lowered voices coming from Harry’s room. He pauses outside the door, straining to listen. “Gem, we can stay here, can’t we?” Harry asks hopefully.

“Harry, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Gemma sighs.

“But I like it here,” Harry protests. “I like Louis and Niall and everyone else.”

“Remember what we said? After Mum and Dad died? Just the two of us against the world,” Gemma says firmly.

“What if I want... _more_ than the two of us?” Harry asks in a small voice.

“How do we know we can trust them? How do we know it won’t be like the last time?”

“It’s different here. _They’re_ different,” Harry cries, tears in his voice. Louis wants to rush into the room and hold him, but instead he squeezes his hands into fists.

“I don’t know, Harry.”

“I just - I want something I can _keep_. It’s been so long since I’ve had something of my own.”

“You’ve got me. And I’ve got you. Why can’t that be enough?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sobs. “It just _isn’t_ anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s meant to be a quick run - go into town and root through some cupboards and cabinets he hasn't gotten to explore yet - collect whatever food hasn’t already spoiled or expired. He finds some old tin cans that look promising and stuffs them into his rucksack, wrapping them in strips of flannel first so they don’t clink together. Quiet is the key. Louis moves through this world like a ghost, taking what he needs and leaving nothing behind._
> 
> Zombie au based loosely on the Walking Dead world.

**Walking Dead AU 3**

Roger’s working furiously in the lab and doesn’t look up from his cultures when the door vacuums shut behind Louis with a low, pneumatic hiss. Louis steadies a hand on Roger’s white-suited arm, _gently_ , as if approaching a feral animal. “Roger, I think it’s time to take a break.”

“There’s too much to do - I need to do a full blood work up and a physical and make a list of his medications-” Roger prattles, pausing to put a dropperful of red liquid into a sample dish. Louis wonders if it’s blood, and if so, if it’s _Harry’s_. The thought makes him vaguely queasy. There’s not much that grosses Louis out anymore - he’s seen walkers with their bones exposed and their guts hanging out of their open stomachs like spoiled sausage links - but the thought of Harry being poked and prodded and taken apart on an exam table makes him nauseous.

Louis doesn’t know why he feels so protective of the boy after such a short period of time - maybe because he reminds Louis of his sisters, maybe because despite the present state of affairs, there’s something so vulnerable and unspoiled about him, maybe another more troubling reason he doesn’t want to examine just yet...

“All that can wait. And we’ll need to get consent from Harry and his sister first.”

“ _Consent_?!” Roger scoffs, eyes narrowing at Louis. “I think we’re a bit past that.”

“Just the same, Harry’s a minor. The walkers take away our choice; I won’t have you do the same to Harry.”

“Maybe it’s not your decision,” Roger says icily, pausing in his work to glare at Louis, unblinking. There’s something hard and clinical about his stare that chills Louis down to his core. “When you first came here, you told me it was no longer about the individual, right? To survive, we need to work together. For the good of the whole. How is this any different?”

Louis swallows hard, running a shaky hand back through his hair. “I don’t know. It just _is_.”

***

On his way to the mess-hall, Louis passes Harry in the hallway outside the shower room, sitting with his back to the wall. He’s wearing an oversized jumper of Liam’s that comes down over his hands, the neckline drooping off one shoulder to reveal a thin collarbone. He’s fervently making his way through one of the comics Zayn filched, eyes wide and mouth slightly slack as he turns the pages. “All right, Harry?”

Harry glances up, grinning from ear to ear when he sees it’s Louis. “Yeah, fine.”

Louis clasps his hands together behind his back, rocking forward on his heels.  Harry's just a kid, but he makes Louis feel like a nervous schoolboy with a crush, make him feel like a kid again himself.  It's stupid.  He knows he's acting like a crazy person, but he can't stop himself.  “Did you need anything?" he blurts out.  "I can get you toiletries...”

“Oh, I’m just keeping a look-out for Gem,” Harry explains. Louis frowns, wondering why Gemma thinks she needs a look-out. It’s a strange world and trust needs to be earned, but Louis hopes he’s been at least mildly hospitable to Gemma. After she tried to kill him and all.

“Right. Well, I’ll see you at dinner then.”

Harry nods, burying his face back into the pages of his comic.

***

It’s Niall’s turn to make dinner according to the schedule taped to the mess hall door, which pleases Louis as he’s second only to Ed when it comes to cooking. Niall’s red-faced and sweating in a white apron spattered with gravy, hunched over a giant silver pot when Louis comes in. Louis sniffs the air - the rich, lusty aroma of simmering meat and vegetables heavy in his nostrils. He doesn’t eat much meat anymore - flesh, even animal flesh, reminds him too much of the dead, but he doesn’t mind it so much when it’s drowned in gravy.

“Smells amazing. Anything I can help with?” Louis asks, sneaking a fork into Niall’s Irish stew when the boy’s turned away to get a bottle of spice from the rack behind him. Niall bats Louis’ hand away, but not before Louis manages to spear a bit of potato, wincing when it burns his tongue.

Niall snickers. “Serves you right. You can set the tables. I’m nearly done.”

Louis skulks off to the pantry, returning with a towering armload of dishes. After so long on the road, squatting in deserted houses and burnt-out shells of barns, eating cold canned beans straight from the tin (often without the benefit of a fork), to eat a home-cooked meal off a plate is the greatest luxury he can imagine. Sometimes, he still eats cold dinner from a can, to remind himself what it feels like to be uncomfortable, because he knows this isn’t permanent. He knows that nothing is anymore. Not safety or security and least of all, love.

Louis tries not to think of Stan, but when does, he doesn’t fool himself into believing it was love, that it was anything other than awkward teenage grappling in his twin-sized bed after the lights had gone out. Sure, they loved each other in their own way - as best mates and childhood confidantes - but even as a fourteen-year old, Louis had no illusions that they were in anything resembling a relationship. The thing he misses most about his first fumbling attempts at intimacy was just feeling _close_ to another person - waking up with Stan’s heavy leg draped over his and his sweaty hand curled over Louis’ stomach - falling asleep to the familiar whistle of his snoring. Louis liked how Stan’s physical weight would press him down into the mattress, would keep him from feeling like he would float away, keep from feeling like crawling out of his own skin.

It’s almost funny how much Louis used to worry about being gay, about coming out to his parents, how paralyzing and suffocating it was. It all seems so unimportant now, so trivial (though he knows at the time it wasn’t). He would give anything to have his old worries back - worries about his parents fighting late into the night or worries about having enough money for his little sisters to get new school clothes, worries that he’d end up stuck in the same small town forever.

The mess hall looks nothing like the tiny kitchen they’d all crammed into for dinner every night back in Doncaster, the girls’ backpacks draped over the seat backs, Louis’ football kit and gear dumped in the front hall. There are four long, scarred wooden tables with attached benches, but they usually only take up two of them. Louis sets bowls and plates and silverware at each spot, setting an extra two places tonight for Harry and his sister.

Harry ambles in with everyone else around six, carrying the baby in his arms, a diaper bag draped casually over one shoulder. Gemma trails behind, her hair greatly benefiting from a shower and a comb, though her eyes still hold something wild and haunted in them.  Something a shower and a hot meal can't erase.

Harry plops down next to Gemma and across from Louis, politely thanking Niall when he ladles stew into his ceramic bowl. Zayn nearly knocks Jesy over in a rush to get a seat on the other side of Gemma, grinning eagerly as he fills her water glass for her. Gemma makes a valiant effort to keep her mouth filled with stew and avoid making conversation with him, but Zayn seems undeterred, happily prattling away at her.  It's the most Louis has ever seen him speak actually.  The atmosphere is unusually boisterous at dinner and Louis nearly forgets about Roger’s conspicuous absence at the table. He’s worried about him, but he’s also worried about what Roger’s discovery could mean for Harry and for all of them. If it means keeping Harry safe, he’ll be forced to make a decision between staying and going and it’s one he hopes he never has to make. They’ve been safe here and he’s still not sure if its right to risk all their lives for the sake of one person.

It’s been a while since they had any newcomers and everyone is accordingly curious and excited. Ed breaks out a stash of beer they’d been saving for a special occasion and Niall makes a Cherry trifle for dessert that’s downright heavenly considering he whipped it up from boxes and cans. Louis feels a stab of jealousy at all the attention Harry’s receiving, but quickly swallows it, along with a scalding spoonful of stew that burns going down. It’s not as if he has any real claim over Harry. _So why does his stomach twist when Harry laughs at something Eleanor said or when he offers Niall his extra piece of cornbread? And why does his heart flutter when Harry offers him a tiny, secretive smile across the table during a lull in conversation?_

Harry happily answers any questions directed at him and spends most of their meal with the baby nestled in the crook of his arm, feeding it a bottle of formula as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Louis can hardly look at them.   It’s all too familiar and close to home - the doting look in Harry’s eyes as the baby tugs at his finger with it’s tiny fist, the baby happily gurgling and kicking his feet when Harry tickles its tummy. It’s painful in a way Louis didn’t anticipate and he spends a good deal of the meal staring down into his bowl, trying to smother his jealousy and avoid the wrenching twist in his gut he gets when he sees Harry with the baby.

Louis loved kids in his old life and it was one of his ambitions to become a dad one day, which was another reason he struggled with the realization that he might be gay. But he’s given up on a lot of dreams since then and he doesn’t understand why Harry and the child had to come into his life now, when he’s already resigned himself to this life, when he’s already snuffed out whatever naive, childish hope still burned in his heart.

When Harry’s finished burping the baby, he walks round the table, holding the child out to Louis. “Can you hold him a sec? Want to eat.”

“No, I - ” Louis recoils, standing up so abruptly he knocks his plastic mug over with a clatter, spilling tea over the table. “I'm sorry - I - I’ve got to - patrol-” he stammers. Louis bolts from the mess hall, away from the baby with its innocent, trusting eyes and Harry looking after him with a confused pout.

***

England was never known for its fantastic weather, so it’s not as if Louis was ever a great outdoorsman in his previous life, but he misses it now - the sun and the stars and the breeze - all things walkers ruined for them. To stand still for too long means becoming a target. Louis misses the stillness and the silence, misses closing his eyes without worrying that the next time he opens them, he’ll be staring into the face of death.

He found the secured rooftop on a routine patrol - just a tiny patch of unslanted roof that’s perfect for one person to lie down and look at the stars. If he can block out the static noise of the walkers and looks up at the sky, it’s almost as if nothing’s changed. He’s looking at the same stars his parents looked at and his grandparents and their parents before them and he finds comfort and solace in the fixed nature of the cosmos. He doesn’t know what will happen in the future and the past is too painful to revisit, but the stars help ground him in time, in place.  Make him feel that maybe he's not really as alone as he thinks.

“All right?” a voice asks behind him and before Louis has time to respond, Gemma is plopping down next to him, uninvited.

“Found my spot then?” he grumbles.

“Didn’t see your name on it,” she rolls her eyes, but there’s a exasperated fondness there that there wasn’t before.

Louis shrugs, pillowing his hands behind his head to look up at the night sky. Gemma does the same, her leg knocking against his as she settles down. Their breath falls into a rhythm with each other and if Louis focuses hard enough, he can ignore the groans, the scraping of broken-down fingernails and gnashing teeth, the sound of death trying to claw its way in. There are moments, brief and fleeting, when he can forget where he is and it’s in those moments that he’s happiest, free and untethered from the endless cycle of death and human suffering.

“You had siblings then?” Gemma asks softly, and the moment’s gone again, whisked away on the breeze, just out of Louis’ reach.

“How’d you know?” he asks, voice low and rough, like sandpaper rapsing over splintered wood.

“The baby - the way you reacted. I remember when Harry was that small. You never really forget, even when they grow up.”

“ _If_ they grow up,” Louis says darkly.

“I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault.” They fall quiet again and Louis is nearly asleep when he feels Gemma stir beside him.

“It’s quite beautiful up here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is. Do you think...will you and Harry stay?”

“I don’t know. Harry - he’s - he’s _special_.”

“Yeah. He is.” Louis wonders if he should tell her - about Harry’s immunity, about Roger’s increasingly frantic search for a cure. But he worries that would only scare her away, give her another reason not to stay.

He realizes for the first time in a long time, and against his better judgement, he’s let himself _want_ something. Want _Harry_.  And he doesn’t know what’s scarier - the prospect of losing Harry forever or the thought of having to fall in love with him first. Maybe it _would_ be better if they left. If he closed that door while it was still possible to.

***

Louis stays up reading for a while before he goes to sleep. He’s just turned the light out when he hears the door to the hall creak open, soft footsteps padding over to his bed. The bed springs depress beside him as a body scoots closer to him, radiating heat.

For a while, it had been a regular thing between them, a way to let off steam and keep level-headed in stressful situations. But Louis has too much on his mind tonight and he’s in no mood for a quickie. “Mmrph. Zayn. Geroff.” Louis mumbles into his pillow, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the tight grip around his waist.

The arms around him freeze. “‘S me,” a tiny voice says.

Louis rolls over to face the boy. Harry’s green eyes are wide, the whites luminescent in the darkness. “ _Harry_?”

“Sorry. I - Niall was snoring - I thought - is this okay?” he asks uncertainly.

The boys and girls dormitories were separated as a precaution when they first arrived to the Center so everyone could have their privacy and it only belatedly occurs to Louis that Harry would probably normally share with Gemma. That he’s not used to sleeping in his own bed.   “Yeah. Of course.”

“Thanks,” Harry says with a relieved sigh, tucking himself up against Louis. Harry’s asleep in minutes, but Louis stays awake for a long time after, staring up into the darkness.  Maybe if he stares hard enough, he'll be able to see the stars through the ceiling.

***

Louis wakes up with Harry lying half on top of him and a massive boner digging into the boy’s hip. Fighting the urge to cant his hips up and increase the friction between their pressed bodies, Louis bites his lip and carefully rolls Harry off of him. Harry lets out a whine in his sleep and blindly reaches for Louis, hands curling in the bottom of his shirt. Louis lets out a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling as he waits for his body to calm down.

He and Perrie are scheduled for a run today and he needs to shower and get dressed, get some fuel in his body and check the fluid levels in the car before they go, but he’s reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed and well, to leave _Harry_. He trails a finger down Harry’s arm, savoring the closeness and warmth. His fingers stop at Harry’s bracelet, gently tugging at the links of the chain, before slipping beneath it to smooth over the fine bones of Harry’s wrist, the faint blue tracery of veins under his pale skin, like rivers encased in ice.

The irony of Harry’s illness doesn’t escape Louis - he’s the only one without the virus, but if they run out of medicine, he could die at any moment. If Louis still spoke to God, if he still _believed_ in one, he might ask what the point of it all was.

“Mmrph,” Harry grunts into Louis' shoulder, causing Louis to drop his hand guiltily. “What time’s it?” His words are even more drawn out than usual, rolling off his tongue like honey. Louis wants to lick the sweetness out of his mouth.

Instead, he turns to get his phone off the side-table, squinting at the screen. “Half past eight. Sorry I woke you. I’m heading into town today.”

Harry’s eyes flick open. “Can I come?” he asks eagerly.

“I dunno if that’s a good idea, Harry. You don’t even know how to fight. I can’t protect you every second.”

“ _Please_?” Harry begs. “I just...I want to feel the sun. I’ll stay close to you. I’ll do whatever you say.”

Louis sighs. _He has no will-power. Absolutely none._ “You can go if it’s all right with Gemma.”

Harry springs out of bed, pumping his arm in the air victoriously. “Yes!”

Louis turns away to hide his smile and his still very present erection.  “Be ready to meet at the car in twenty.”

***

“ _Wait_ , stop the car!” Harry shouts suddenly from the back, leaning up between the seats to slap Louis’ arm. Louis nearly slams on the breaks, but manages to just lightly tap them.

“ _What_? What is it?” Perrie asks, hand moving automatically to the knife at her hip. “Did you see something?”

“There,” Harry points to a roadside convenience store that looks as if it’s seen better days. The neon sign above the door is dangling from a few fraying strands of wire and the glass in the front window panes is all broken out, glittering shards spilled out over the pavement. There are a few Walkers milling about outside and they shift their gaze at the approaching rumble of the car engine.

Harry sits up a little higher in his seat as Louis slows the car, transfixed by something neither Perrie or Louis can see. “I need to go in there.”

Louis cranes his head to face the backseat. “This isn’t one of our stops, Harry. We have to stick to our schedule if we wanna make it back by sundown.”

“I know. _Please_. I can’t explain. It’s just - I need to go in there.” Louis sighs, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He knew this was a bad idea. But he’d let his other head do the thinking. And now he’s stuck with this teenage liability who thinks they’re on some sort of joy ride - who’d spent half the drive from the center with his head out the window like a dog.

Still, there’s something about the urgency in Harry’s voice, the way his body went straight and rigid as a tuning fork at the sight of the place, that gives Louis pause. He stops the car, leaving the keys in the ignition so they can make a quick getaway if it comes to that.

“All right. Let's make it quick. And stay between Perrie and I. I don’t fancy being castrated by your sister, thanks.”

But Harry’s already out the door.  Louis has to rush out and grab him by the arm to make sure he doesn’t run head-first into a potential nest of walkers. Completely unarmed.  He squeezes Harry’s bicep hard enough to bruise. “I _said_ , stay with us,” he growls. Harry shivers at the authoratitive tone of Louis’ voice, but thankfully stays put.

Louis goes first, putting Harry behind him and in front of Pezza. He raises his bow to his shoulder to take out two nearby walkers in quick succession. Harry winces and the tiny fingers gripping Louis' waist tighten. The boy has no taste for violence and Louis promises himself if they get out of this alive, the first thing he’ll do is get Harry some training. If you want to survive, defending yourself isn’t a matter of choice, but _necessity_.

Behind him, Louis hears the shrill whistle of Perrie’s blade slicing through the air and the thump of a body hitting the ground.  He doesn't turn around.  He can't afford to.  They creep slowly into the abandoned building and Louis has to fight to keep his eyes open. If this were a horror movie, he’d be shouting at the characters on the screen to get the fuck out of there. But it’s not a horror movie and he can’t close his eyes. This is his _life_ now. And it’s Harry and Perrie’s life too.  And no one dies on his watch.

“Which way?” Louis whispers.

“There. That door,” Harry points.

“Okay. Slowly now.” They advance in tandem down a dry goods aisle mostly stripped of its food, toward the closed door. Louis quietly takes a Walker out behind the counter and Harry stumbles, arms nearly circling Louis’ whole waist now he’s holding on to him so tight.

Taking a deep breath, Louis reaches for the doorknob, but it’s locked. Trying to be as quiet as possible, Louis uses the butt of his gun to bash it open. The door swings open on a tiny, dim storage room. There’s a body huddled in between a pallet of boxes - Louis can only see a head of blonde hair, but judging by the size, it’s a kid. _Fuck. He hates killing kids. Especially ones bearing a passing resemblance to his sisters._

He raises his bow, but feels Harry’s hand on his wrist, stilling it. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t like this,” Perrie hiss-whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Just a minute.” Harry pulls away from them and walks over to kneel down by the little girl - or what’s _left_ of her - Louis has to keep reminding himself that the kids are monsters just the same as the rest. He keeps his weapon steady, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Harry reaches out to put a hand on one of the pale, dirty legs peeking out from the boxes and the girl flinches back.

“Please don’t hurt me,” a small voice cries. _Fuck, she’s alive._

Perrie exchanges a quick, disbelieving glance with Louis and he shrugs.  He had no idea how Harry knew to find her there. “It’s all right. We’re here to help,” Harry says, keeping his voice soft and low as if coaxing a frightened animal out of a hole.

The girl pulls her thin legs up to her chest, burying her face in her bruised knees. She can’t be more than six or seven. “I want my mummy.”

“I promise we’ll look for her. But right now, we have to leave. It’s not safe here. My name’s Harry, what’s yours?”

She blinks a few times, rubbing her wet nose on her sleeve. “Isabelle.”

***

Everybody’s surprised when they return a few hours later with another person in tow, Louis and Perrie perhaps most of all. Besides Harry and Gemma, it’s been a long time since they’ve brought anyone back to the center. It’s been a long time since they’ve found anyone out there who was still alive.

The other kids are all curious about Isabelle and most of dinner that evening is spent bombarding her with questions. She perks up with a hot meal in her belly and talks excitedly among the table’s other occupants, no lingering trace of her earlier shyness. Everyone’s so occupied that no one notices Harry slip away from the table. No one but _Louis_ , that is.

Harry’s curled up in bed with a comic when Louis finds him. Louis tosses him a container of vanilla pudding and a spoon. “You missed dessert.”

“Thanks,” Harry grins, sitting up to peel the lid off. He sticks out his tongue, licking pudding from the foil obscenely, a dribble of stray custard dripping down his chin. Louis has to force his eyes away. _Should have picked chocolate pudding. Looks less like..._ Louis forces his mind away from the thought. _A kid, just a kid_ , he repeats to himself like a mantra.

“How did you know? How did you know that girl was there?” he asks, without looking at Harry. A million possible explanations are running through his mind, but not one of them is an answer. Not one of them makes sense.

“I dunno. I just did. I _felt_ her, I guess.”

“Is that how you found the baby?” Louis asks, finally looking over at Harry.

Harry nods. “Yeah.” He picks at a loose string on his jumper, frowning. “You don’t like, think I’m a freak, do you?”

“Of course not,” Louis rushes, twining his fingers through Harry’s and giving his hand a quick squeeze. “It’s amazing. What you can do.”

Harry looks up, face heart-breakingly hopeful, eyes big and green beneath the dark fan of his lashes. “You think so?”

“Yeah. You’re special, Harry.”

Harry’s whole face goes red and he ducks his chin to hide his blush. “I think you’re special too,” he says in a small voice. And even though Louis knows it’s not true, he can’t help the warm bloom of excitement that unfurls in his belly. And for a minute, just a minute, he feels like a kid again. Just a kid with a crush before the world went mad, along with everyone in it.

Everyone but Harry.


End file.
